


The Golden Rule

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Birds, Friendship, Gen, Montreuil-sur-Mer, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 16:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11422248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: The story of Fantine's bird.





	The Golden Rule

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bobbiewickham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbiewickham/gifts).



When Fantine received her first wages from the factory, she felt like she could do anything. Her room was small; no matter – there was space for a bed, a chest of drawers, a table, and two straight-backed chairs with horsehair upholstery. She bought the furniture on credit, imagining the day when she and Cosette would be able to take tea together in this room, or one like it. 

The elation did not leave her during the following weeks. How delightful it was to have money! And what was more, she still had her youth and her looks, neither of which Felix Tholomyès had managed to take from her. She was her own woman now, and the sense of freedom brought a spring to her step as she walked to the factory, a smile to her face as she bent her head to the work. 

She befriended the tenant in the room next to her own, an old woman named Marguerite, who made a living from stitching shirts for the soldiers of the local garrison. They did not have much in common, it seemed to Fantine, but Marguerite's kindness, which was yet devoid of curiosity, appealed to her. At the same time, she kept her distance from the women at the workshop, who in turn regarded her with suspicion. Not even this could ruin her feeling of invincibility, which increased tenfold when Thénardier replied to her first letter, stating that Cosette was happy and thriving. 

About a month after her return to Montreuil-sur-Mer, she went with Marguerite to the market one Saturday morning. Several hawkers were there to peddle their goods; Fantine bought a comb from one of them, inlaid with mother of pearl. Marguerite gazed at each item, picking it up and turning it between her hands, but would buy nothing. "Seeing and touching is enough for me," she said when Fantine asked her. 

Amidst all the noise of the market, a sound attracted Fantine's notice: the silvery trill of a bird. Turning, she saw that one of the vendors had a cage on his stall, within which there was a small creature with black and yellow wings. 

"A goldfinch, Mademoiselle," said the vendor, grinning. "Caught him young; he's tame as a kitten and sings like an angel. Listen!" 

The bird trilled again, darting around in its cage with small sprightly motions, cocking its head. Fantine cocked her head in turn, thoroughly charmed. 

"Listen," said the vendor. "I'll give you a special price. It's clear that you two are meant for each other."

Marguerite looked sceptical, but Fantine was won over. Although it made a dent in her weekly wages, she brought the cage home and the bird with it. She put the cage on top of the chest of drawers and enjoyed the sight, thinking of how the goldfinch would have enchanted Cosette. 

In the evening, she let the bird out, making sure the window was closed. The goldfinch flew a couple of rounds around the room, then perched on top of the cage, letting out a loud trill. Fantine tossed out seeds on the table, and was rewarded when the finch landed right in front of her. 

Perhaps it was her loneliness, perhaps it was the fact that she was a mother deprived of her child, but in any case a great tenderness swelled in her breast as she watched the little bird hop around on the table, picking the seeds one by one. She admired the fine markings of red and black on its head, the small beak, the delicate body. When the finch picked a seed from the palm of her hand, she almost laughed with sheer delight. 

"That's right, don't be afraid of me," she said. "You dear little thing! You shall have all the seeds your heart desires." 

In the weeks that followed, she kept her promise, and the goldfinch rewarded her by increasing displays of trust, even coming to perch on her outstretched finger, her shoulder, or, sometimes, the top of her head. Fantine took a great joy in her new companion. Her room seemed like more of a home, now that she was greeted by trills and twitters upon her return from work. For fear that the landlord or his housekeeper should enter her room and leave the door open, she kept the finch caged when she was not at home, but she would always let him out in the evening, allowing him to stretch his wings as far as the small room would allow. 

Yet, during those soft summer nights when the goldfinch would alight on the windowsill, staring through the glass at the first stars appearing on the velvet sky, she would sometimes find herself wondering if he was longing for his freedom. As the world lay quiet and dark outside, she would then be gripped by wistfulness, and she would bow her head, lost in thought. 

 

*

 

Months passed, the seasons changed, and as winter turned into spring, the day came when Fantine was laid off. 

She perceived at once that she was trapped. She could not leave; she owed money to the furniture dealer, to the landlord, and above all to the Thénardiers. Her only solution was to find work, and so she went from door to door in Montreuil-sur-Mer's wealthy and almost-wealthy neighbourhoods, asking if they were in need of maidservants. While the response varied in flavour, from scorn to pity, the meat of the matter was constant: no one would take her in. 

In despair, she turned to Marguerite and asked if the garrison had enough stitch work for the both of them. Soon they shared their workdays, hunkering down in Fantine's room at the light of a single candle, which had to be extinguished at each rare break. 

The goldfinch perched on top of the cage, watching over the proceedings, occasionally letting out a chirrup or a trill. Marguerite squinted at him. 

"That bird is a luxury," she said. "How will you be able to afford seeds? You will have more than enough difficulty feeding yourself." 

Fantine, sensing she was right, did not protest. She hung her head, remembering all those evenings when the bird, her sole companion, had comforted her. "What should I do?" 

"The bird vendors are going to be at the market again tomorrow," Marguerite replied. "Take the bird there and sell it." 

"And who would buy him? From me, a disgraced woman." Perhaps it was an exaggeration; the travelling vendors would know little of her shame. Still, she hated the thought of going to the market, of making her way through the crowds, the men's eyes leering, the women drawing their skirts closer. "Everyone knows of my situation. They will give only a fraction of what I paid."

"Well, then," Marguerite said, kind as she was, "I will sell it for you." 

Fantine was grateful for this, and momentarily relieved. Yet, after Marguerite had left her for the night, sorrow overwhelmed her. She put her face in her hands and wept for a long time, and when she looked up to find the goldfinch perched on the windowsill, she wept even harder. 

In the end, she stood and approached the window. The finch hopped from side to side, cocking his head. Fantine cocked her head in response, and swallowed down a sob. 

"My dear little friend," she whispered. "What a trap you were lured into." 

She held out her finger, but the bird did not alight on it; instead, he turned to the window pane and the starry night outside. The finch had been caught young, Fantine remembered. Ever since then, he had lived in captivity. Did he still remember woods, fields, the open sky? Did he yearn for such things?

Tears welled up in her eyes yet again. She put her hand over her mouth, watching the finch's silent reflection in the window pane. 

"I'm sorry," she told him, shaking her head. "I'm so very, very sorry." 

 

*

 

The next morning, Marguerite entered the room to find both the cage and the window open. 

Fantine was sitting on the bed, a faint smile around her mouth. Her eyes lingered at the window; between her hands, she held a single yellow feather.

"Heavens!" cried Marguerite. "You let the bird out?" 

"I did," said Fantine, and in her voice there was both melancholy and happiness. "I shan't have to pay for seeds any longer." 

Marguerite shook her head in amazement. "But the money it could have fetched you!" 

"Yes." Fantine sighed, looking at the feather. "I suppose I was really foolish. And yet..." 

She raised her eyes to meet Marguerite's, and her smile, like her voice, held infinite sorrow and gladness. "And yet, I couldn't bring myself to do otherwise." 

 

*

 

One evening in spring, near Montfermeil, a girl child was hauling a bucket of water through the forest when she heard a sound that made her pause and look up. The song of a bird – she recognised it, although no one had taught her its name – in the nests of branches above her head, silvery and clear and happy, like a herald of joyous times ahead. 

The girl trembled, not knowing why. There was little joy in her life, and she had no reason to expect this would change. But in that moment, a rare feeling of consolation took hold of her, the birdsong speaking directly to her heart, a promise of love and hope that she could not unravel, yet deeply felt to be true.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Bobbie, I hope this worked for you as a take on the prompt of "Fantine having fun taking care of an animal" - despite the touches of sadness! Many thanks to Jehane18 for the awesome beta.


End file.
